


hold me harder

by cervine_salad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Trans Character, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 04:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20901335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cervine_salad/pseuds/cervine_salad
Summary: Keith's had something on his mind for a long time that he wants to work out. Emotionally. And physically. He asks his boyfriend play out a rough assault scene to give him some closure on an event that he can't seem to get past otherwise.This is a rape FANTASY done with explicit consent beforehand, and implied intense negotiation. Content can still be triggering and caution should be applied to reading.Trans!Keith, cis!Shiro.





	hold me harder

“Tonight?” Shiro asks it as level as he can, halfway around the rim of his beer glass. “Are you sure?”

They’re in a loud bar, but Keith can hear every word. He’s focused like a laser on his boyfriend’s voice, on the movement of his lips, on the deep look of casual curiosity in his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Keith holds his third glass of wine between his fingers, not lifting it from the table. It’s almost empty. He’s finally feeling buzzed. “I’m gonna head out soon. Give me half an hour before you leave.”

Shiro nods, suddenly a little somber. “Okay. You’re okay that I drank? This is the only one.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be sober by the time I leave.” He sets the empty glass down, the leftover froth slinking in a slow circle in the bottom like milk. 

“You remember how I want it to go, yeah?” Keith brushes dark hair from his face, tucks it behind his ear. The black studs in his lobes glimmer.

“Mm-hmm.” Shiro rests his big arms on the tabletop, his muscles hard and straining against his leather jacket, and Keith wants him. He wants him so badly. He has to try to think himself away from it, or this won’t work.

But like most things with the love of his life, Keith relents a bit and finds his hands in Shiro’s, their fingers laced together, just like always.

“I’m trying to get ready to be afraid of you,” Keith manages, a little darkly. “Should we have a fake fight before I storm out?”

Shiro grins in spite of himself. “If you let go of me first.”

“Mm. No.” Keith glances down at their palms, their knuckles, their flushed fingertips. “No, I want this for a little longer.”

When Keith does finally let go and rise from the table, he doesn’t kiss him goodbye as he usually would. He gives him only a knowing look, something that strikes Shiro as almost macabre. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Shiro says sweetly. 

“Yeah.” Keith fiddles with his scarf, tightens his coat around him. “See you.”

Keith’s too drunk to drive home, but they live only a few streets away. He gets himself home with a light-headed dance of black boots in fresh white snow. This part of the city is quiet at night in the late autumn. It’s too early for snow, but the sky is doing it anyway. Lightly. The streetlights turn it all to sad blue glitter. It feels like floating.

Even though he knows what he asked for, he tries to think around it. He stumbles up the front steps to their apartment door and shakily unlocks it. Did Shiro bring his keys? Ah, but it doesn’t matter. Shiro doesn’t live here. Shiro is a stranger and has his own place. They just met for a drink. It’s nothing serious. Keith didn’t ask him to come home with him.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, hanging up his snowdrop-laden coat and swinging the scarf in a double loop around another hook. “Fuck. Okay.”

He doesn’t have a lot of time, if Shiro sticks to their timeline. He’ll sit in the bar for a little while longer, sober up, drive his white pickup truck back to their -- back to Keith’s place, and then everything will go to shit.

He knows he could call it all off if he wanted to. There’s a whole list of words he could say that would end the game, a whole list so that he can at least remember one or two in the moment. Only having one is dangerous. And if Keith ends up unable to speak, he has hand signs. And if that isn’t an option either, he’s decided it’s for the best to let it happen.

A little unorthodox, and he wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else. But he’s himself, and Shiro is Shiro, and at the very least if Keith feels he isn’t getting much out of a rape fantasy, he can just tell himself he asked for it a little rougher than usual.

He slips into the bedroom and strips out of his clothes. He wonders briefly if this was a mistake, if he never should have told Shiro that he’d been holding in that horrible secret for years about that guy from college whose face he can’t even remember now. It had been violent, crude, the furthest thing from sexy. It’s not something Keith wants to process every day. But lately it’s been putting a rift between them, and Keith is waking up from nightmares even more frequently than his partner, which says a lot about the weight he’s still carrying. He knows this won’t cure him. It won’t change what happened or make it normal or good. It’s not really about that, though.

He realizes, once he’s naked, that he has his phone in his hands. He types a text message to Shiro.

I had a lot of fun tonight. Call me tomorrow? Night, stud. =)

Ha. Stud. He’s never called Shiro that in their lives -- in seriousness, anyway -- but he knows that Shiro will read it as a green light.

Shiro doesn’t text him back, according to plan. Keith washes his face in the bathroom sink, squints at his reflection and the dark circles under his eyes, pats his face dry in a towel. He breathes in the scent of his own skin, heaves a sigh into the fabric.

He’s shaking, but he acknowledges it and pushes on.

He gets in bed like his socks are cinderblocks. He’s not sure what to do, how to lie, how to look. Even if he knew those answers, he doubts it would matter. He curls up on one side, the covers up over the tip of his nose so he can sense his own body heat. He breathes into that warm space, in and out, in and out.

Actually, he nearly falls asleep by the time he hears the shuffling. The front door opens, closes, and he hears the deadbolt slide into place.

Keith takes in a sharp breath and throws off the covers. His feet hit the rug and then the hardwood floor, and he yanks the bedroom door open to find a large, dark shape in the hallway.

“Hey!” he rasps. “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?”

“Shut up,” a deep voice growls, shuffling toward him, smelling like leather and smoke and dive bar whiskey.

“Get out of my house!” Keith hisses. “What the f-”

The man closes in on him quickly, shoves him up against the wall of the hallway. “I said,” he rumbles, “shut the fuck up, or I’ll break your neck.”

A firm hand clamps tight over his mouth, and Keith gasps, sucking on the salt flesh of a calloused palm as he struggles to get breath through his nose. He tries to scream, but the hand doesn’t let up, and another is roughly making its way around his waist to one of his ass cheeks and gripping hard.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself.” The bulky man starts to drag Keith back toward the bedroom doorway, and though Keith digs his fingernails into the molding of the doorframe, he’s forced backward with enough power to rake him off the painted wood. 

“Stop,” Keith manages to gasp, his ribs already heaving in terror. “What do you want?”

“Don’t act all innocent.” The man slams the bedroom door behind him and shucks off his jacket. “You wanted me to follow you here. What did you send me that text for, huh? You were practically begging for it.”

“No,” Keith whimpers, and with another step backward his calves are hitting the bedframe. “No, please, don’t do this. I want you to leave.”

“Leave?” The man laughs, low in his throat, like a purr. “I’m not going anywhere until I get to fuck that whore pussy. Lie down.”

“No,” Keith snarls.

“All right. We’ll do it the hard way.” 

Keith can barely see him cross the room, but he feels his sudden weight like a giant hammer crashing into his chest. The intruder takes him down onto the bed with ease, no matter how he struggles, no matter how hard he thrashes his legs and throws punches into air, scratches huge swaths of muscular shoulder and pectoral. The man pins him with all his might, with all his weight, and his tree-trunk thighs settle over Keith’s legs in powerful restraint. He tears off a white t-shirt to reveal a chiseled barrel chest in the faint moonlight from the window behind the bed. His face is still in shadow, but Keith watches his big hands undoing the belt at his waist, unclasping the belt buckle, ripping his zipper down. Boxer briefs as black as night, but silvery pubic hair in a shining trail from navel to…

“Please don’t,” Keith cries, and his thighs tremble, and he claws at the man’s clothed thighs in a desperate attempt to crawl away from him. “Please, I love someone else.” Unexpectedly, he finds his eyes feeling swollen and wet. Hot tears well up behind them, flood the lids with a speed he wasn’t expecting. His words are coming in awful strings of memory, things he knows he could have uttered in the moment years ago, and they come back to him like knives in his chest. “I was saving myself for him. I don’t want it to be like this. Please…”

“Too bad.” A hand closes roughly around his mouth, squeezes his lips. “Poor little virgin. Nobody wants that, anyway. Trust me. I’ll do you a favor and break you in for him.”

Keith tries to scream “No,” but it’s lost in the man’s palm as he gives his lips one last squeeze and then slaps him hard across the face.

“And shut up,” he repeats, slapping Keith again, hard, before the hand latches on to his throat. “Nobody likes a crybaby, either.”

Tears pearl at the edges of Keith’s eyes and slowly trickle down the sides of his face, the grip around his main arteries already making him feel dizzy. He’s a little drunk, but this isn’t like being drunk. He can breathe, but the air doesn’t feel like air. He breathes faster.

“Please,” he croaks.

It falls on deaf ears as the intruder’s other hand pulls a thick, throbbing cock from his underwear, hard and full and flushed at the mushroom head, and taps the warm thing against Keith’s folds.

“Relax,” he rumbles, “or I’ll make sure you definitely don’t enjoy this.”

Keith cries out as the pulsating erection enters him, bare, filling him immediately as his slick inner walls cling to the familiar girth. It’s big, and it hurts, and Keith finds the man’s free hand over his mouth again to muffle his sounds. The grip on his throat relaxes, but he gets another slap to the face. Softer, this time, but a reminder that these hands could kill him if they wanted to.

Keith’s legs won’t stop shaking. He lifts them if only to not have to support their weight with his hips. When his heels hit the small of the intruder’s back, they both moan.

“Fuck,” the man rasps. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so tight. That’s it. Let me have it. Let me have it all.”

Keith is crying. His tears sting, roll down his cheeks, and he loses sensation of them when they stream over the stranger’s knuckles. His cunt flutters in a sensitive dance of pain and pleasure, that mysterious ache of fear and arousal that have his hole weeping as wet as his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” the man groans, thrusting into him at an agonizing pace, fucking him deep. “Fuck, yeah. You like that. You love my dick in your pussy, you dirty little slut.”

“Please stop,” Keith sobs, and his own hands are covering his face now. “Please, I don’t… You’re hurting me. Stop!”

“You like it when it hurts.” 

The plush head of that big cock hits home, tapping the hard sponge of Keith’s cervix, and he yells into his hands. The deep thrust sends a lightning strike of pain up through his belly.

“Right there. Yeah.” The man continues his onslaught, but with a small change that sends Keith reeling -- his cock hits just slightly toward the ceiling of Keith’s cunt, no longer in that pain spot, but a very different spot altogether. It’s… one of Keith’s most treasured erogenous zones, and it brings him back to reality.

“Fuck,” Keith whimpers, and his legs shoot for the ceiling, and he stares up at his attacker through his fingers. His whole body burns, but it’s no longer from fear. “Fuck, fuck, oh my god…”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s it. That’s it.” The man holds him by the hips, finally, in an intimate grasp. Digs his fingers into the soft curves. That’s familiar, too. 

“Oh, god,” Keith gasps, trembling and moaning as the man hits that spot over and over, like pushing a pleasure button. His whole channel sings from labia to navel. 

“Keith,” Shiro rasps.

Keith looks up into his eyes, finally. He can see them shining, dark and bright at the same time, his hair like the snow. His breath catches on a ragged sob. “Shiro.”

“You didn’t say it.” Shiro strokes his hair, leans down to kiss his forehead. His hips are still rolling, his cock sliding in and out of Keith with feverish pumps. 

“Lion!” Keith yells, because it’s the only one on their list of safe words he can remember. “Lion, lion.”

Shiro slumps over, closer to him, and at first he grinds to a halt and stares down at him expectantly; but Keith huffs with impatience.

“Are you o-”

“Keep fucking me,” Keith snarls. He wants to scream it. “Fuck me, fuck me, please. Fuck me, Shiro, make me cum.”

Shiro needs no further instruction. His strong thighs slap Keith’s ass, his balls full and drawing closer to his body with impending release, his cock fuller than it’s felt in weeks. They haven’t had sex in half a month. Now it feels like they could fuck all night.

“Does it feel good?” Shiro growls, nuzzling at Keith’s neck, biting viciously at the side of his throat.

“Yes, yes, fuck!” Keith is powerless against it, that pre-orgasm rush that fills his head with cotton candy and sends what feels like all the blood in his body to his cunt. “Please, please, please.”

Keith’s heels might hit the ceiling, he thinks. His ankles might at least touch Shiro’s shoulder blades, the way this man -- his man -- fucks him so good, fills him up just right. He’s missed this. He’s missed his lover, his best friend. He’s missed fucking.

“Shiro,” he cries. “Shiro, baby, I love you.”

It’s sweet and thick and desperate, and Shiro lets out a primal snarl as the coil of his pleasure snaps and his balls contract and his cock pumps hot cum deep into Keith’s channel. He rides through it, flushed bright red from cheeks to chest, and Keith’s pussy responds with the kind of tightness that only comes just before…

“I love you, too,” Shiro moans, and kisses him.

The slot of their lips together sends Keith screaming over the edge, his pussy squirting slick all over the buried shaft, all over their sheets. Their sheets, their bed, their bedroom. His boyfriend. His boyfriend’s cock. His boyfriend who loves him.

“Shiro,” Keith sobs. “Shiro.”

“I’m here, baby.” Shiro buries his face in Keith’s hair, in his neck, in the smell of him. “I’m here.”

It takes a long while for Keith’s breathing to settle. He stares off into space, off into the darkness of their bedroom, absently carding slow fingers through Shiro’s hair.

“I didn’t want to make you cry,” Shiro says softly. “I’m sorry, Keith. Did I hurt you?”

“I wanted you to.” Keith lets his fingers wander down the buzzed nape of Shiro’s neck, down the little river rock trail of vertebrae. “You were perfect. Exactly what I wanted from it.”

Shiro sighs, mostly from relief. “Good.”

“Except when you broke character.” Keith smiles against his forehead. “You couldn’t take it, huh?”

Shiro returns a weak laugh, and his arms feel warm and strong and safe around Keith’s body. “No, I couldn’t. To be honest, I was going to yell a safe word, too. I almost did, but then you said my name.”

“Your name was not on the list of safe words.”

“No, it wasn’t. But how could I help it?” Shiro muses, tangling a lock of silken black hair around his finger. “When you said my name, I couldn’t be a stranger anymore. You know me. I’m yours. I couldn’t do any of it, without you asking me to.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“No, I know.”

“Was it…” Keith bites his lip. “Was it bad for you?”

“No.” The bigger man adjusts his grip, holds him a little tighter. “You know I’d never want it, if you genuinely didn’t want it. But I want to help you work through this.”

“Thank you.” Keith closes his eyes, briefly, to keep new tears from springing up. “I’ve been neglecting you lately, in bed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t apologize for that.” Shiro kisses his neck, and it sends a little shudder of renewed want down Keith’s spine. “I love you so much, Keith. I’d do anything for you.”

“Me, too.” Keith folds his big shoulders in his arms, slides down so they can exchange wet, open kisses. “I love you, Shiro. Thank you.” 

“How do you feel?”

They meet each other’s gaze. Keith ponders it for only a few heartbeats. “Horny,” he says softly. “Wanna go another round?”

“Can I be me this time?”

“Yes,” Keith laughs, his legs sliding apart to cradle his partner’s waist. “Please.”


End file.
